


Keeping a Reflection Of You In Hindsight

by manipulant



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Blood Drinking, M/M, Multi, Non-Graphic Violence, Starvation, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-16
Updated: 2011-10-29
Packaged: 2017-10-25 01:28:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/270190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manipulant/pseuds/manipulant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brendon is surrounded by vampires. And not in a sexy or dangerous way, more like a “nobody else gets up before six in the evening so I have to do all the errands and yard work myself” way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_**Keeping a Reflection of You In Hindsight**_  
 **Title:** Keeping a Reflection Of You In Hindsight  
 **Pairing(s):** Brendon/Spencer, Pete/Patrick/Ashlee  
 **Rating:** PG-13 for thematic elements.  
 **Warnings:** Vampires! H/C! Vampire Character A has some issues with blood and having to drink it, so he doesn’t, and suffers physical effects. It could be triggering for readers with/recovering from EDs.  
 **Word count:** ~14,000  
 **Summary:** Brendon is surrounded by vampires. And not in a sexy or dangerous way, more like a “nobody else gets up before six in the evening so I have to do all the errands and yard work myself” way.

  
“I don’t think it’s a great plan, B,” Ashlee sighs, glancing over at him. “You _know_ how protective Pete is of you, and you know he’ll just - “

“He’ll get it,” Brendon says firmly, reaching a hand out to guide Ashlee away from a small stream of sunlight beaming down onto the campus walkway. He looks up and scowls - the past winter was hell on UNLV’s UV-proof awnings, but seriously, it’s almost _May_. Shit should be fixed by now. He shifts his backpack more firmly onto his shoulders. “I’m not a kid anymore, and it’s not like I’m going to be that far _away_. We’ll still be in the same city.”

Ashlee turns to face him, and gives him the most morose pout she’s ever managed. It makes her look about eight years old. “Maybe I’ll miss having you down the hall,” she says, petulant, and Brendon snorts, giving her a grin in return.

“You can come visit,” he assures her, patting the top of her head. “And so can Patrick. Pete can’t, he’ll wind up breaking something.”

“Yeah, you get to tell him that part,” Ashlee says, rolling her eyes but looking a little less put out by the idea of Brendon living on-campus next semester. They walk in companionable silence til they get to the edge of the awning - Pete’s driver is waiting patiently at the end of the block, thirty feet away. Brendon automatically holds his hand out for Ashlee’s backpack, and helps make sure her fingertips and neck are covered for her. She roots around in her bag for her umbrella, and gives him a wan smile as she opens it up over her head. “Good?”

He hooks the backpack on her arm, and looks her over, making sure no skin is exposed. “Watch your toes,” he says dubiously, looking down at the peep-toe heels she insisted on wearing. “But yeah, you’re good. See you at dinner.” He turns to walk back to his last class of the day, then remembers and whirls back around. “Oh, hey, you won’t say anything to them, will you?”

“No, I won’t!” Ashlee calls over her shoulder. Brendon watches her safely into the car, then turns back around. He walks for a little - until he’s sure that Ashlee’s car has turned a corner and she can’t see him anymore - and then exhales a tiny little sigh as he steps out from under the relative coolness.of the awning, and tilts his head back, letting the sun fall onto his face.

-

His Liszt seminar ends at 4:45, and Brendon streaks out of the building, one of the first ones out of the door, bounding down the stairs and into the late afternoon sun. He has the next two hours to _himself_ , which is rare enough to begin with, and he has them _during the day_ , so he’s taken to ambling along the perimeter of the main quad until he finds a suitably isolated patch of grass, and flopping down onto it.

Today, though, there’s some frat rush bullshit happening - Brendon scowls at the scattered clusters of freshman guys dressed in penis costumes. They’re cheerfully handing out flyers - probably to some party over the weekend - to the pretty girls, but Brendon’s still wary of walking past all of them.

Thwarted, he huffs over to the closest vending machine and grabs a Sprite, swigging down half of it on his way back to the music building. If he can’t lounge around and work on his tan, then he might as well get some practice in for his senior recital.

He rounds the corner and sidles past a group of students, ducking down a service alley to use the back door of the building. The Sprite’s scratching at his throat and he’s pretty much done with it, so he lifts the lid of a green box and chucks it in.

“ _Ow_ , motherfucker,” the dumpster says. Brendon pauses, and turns back to it, and blinks. He shifts his weight, and then - he really can’t help himself, he has to _see_ \- he moves back over to the box and lifts the lid up high, peering inside.

“Hey! Jesus, what - “

There’s a scramble, and Brendon starts and almost slams the lid down on his fingers, barely catching it in time to see a flash of eyes and pale skin huddling back into the corner of the box. “Oh,” he says, feeling pretty stupid suddenly, because...did he _really_ think that a green box had suddenly developed the ability to talk? “Oh, sorry,” he tells the kid in the dumpster, squinting at him, at the way he’s cradling his arm. “I didn’t mean to hit you.”

The kid - the guy, actually - levels Brendon this unamused _look_ , and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, it really ruined my day,” he grumbles, sucking in a long breath as he presses his arm up to his chest. “Nailed by a soda bottle, that - oh, god,” he cuts off, kind of curling over his arm, closing his eyes (blue, Brendon thinks) for a moment. “Okay. ...okay.”

“Um.”

The eyes fly back open, and glare up at Brendon, hazy and - yeah, blue. “Close the goddamn lid, moron,” the guy flares, gesturing to Brendon with his good arm, and Brendon can’t help getting distracted by the one that’s hurt, it’s -

\- huh, the wounds are weirdly familiar; they look exactly like when Pete got taken and held in LA, the red and blisters and cracking. Brendon looks back up at the guy, who looks seriously _pissed_ now, and in pain, and _pale_ , and suddenly things click.

“Oh. Oh _shit_ dude, sorry, I didn’t realize,” he says, reaching to grab his backpack and swing it up and into the dumpster. He glances down, trying to find a foothold. “Look, scoot back towards the edge, I don’t wanna burn you again,” he says, gesturing toward the corner of the box, waiting until the guy gives him a look full of death and obeys before he hops up and over.

The lid slams down behind him, throwing them both into darkness, and Brendon fumbles in his pockets for his phone, pressing the touchscreen until it lights up, coating the tiny space in blue light. The guy blinks at him, and Brendon grins. “Here, give me your arm,” he says, beginning to rummage in his backpack for the first-aid kit Patrick made him carry, just in case there was an emergency with Ashlee. He crows when he finds it, and unzips it, tugging out the burn cream and looking back up. “You want to - whoa.”

The guy’s shivering, hunched back in the corner, and now that Brendon’s actually getting a good look at him, he looks - yeah, not good. Kinda...skeletal. Brendon reaches a hand out carefully, touches his knee, and the kid jerks back, opening his eyes a little. “Don’t,” he croaks, his eyes glassy in the terrible light of the phone, and Brendon worries at the corner of his lip.

“Hey, no, it’s okay,” he murmurs, scooting a little closer, actually starting to get _nervous_. Pete’s warned him about ferals, about not getting too close, but - it’s his fault the kid’s burned, he can’t just leave. “Hey,” he says, trying to keep his voice calm and soothing, “hey, what’s your name?” he asks, as he twists the top off of the burn cream and slides forward, shifting over boxes and paper and bags of shredded documents. He reaches for the guy’s arm and, after a long, anxious moment, the guy exhales and moves it into his grasp.

“Spencer,” the guy mutters, clenching his jaw and closing his eyes against the sting of the cream.

“Spencer,” Brendon repeats, nodding his head and wincing as he tries to rub in the cream as gently as he can. When he’s finished, he looks up, and pretends not to notice how Spencer’s breath is quick and shallow and pained. “I’m Brendon,” he says, and quickly looks back down, forcing himself not to take too much notice of...of anything. Certainly not lips or hair or eyes or long legs or anything.

“Brendon,” Spencer breathes, and he waits just til Brendon’s daring to peek up again to give him a small, lopsided, _sweet_ smile. He closes his eyes, leans his head back against the wall of the dumpster. “You carry burn cream around just in case you happen upon a - a stranger in a dumpster?”

“Nah,” Brendon grins, sort of grateful it’s so dark in the dumpster - his blush probably isn’t as noticeable. “My parents are vampires, too.”

-

Brendon’s reconciled himself to the fact that he’s not going to get in any practice time today. He’s okay with it. What he’s _not_ okay with is how it took him ten minutes of apologizing and cajoling to get Spencer to _talk_ to him again. He’s also not okay with how low his phone battery is getting, and he’s not okay with the way Spencer’s still kind of shaking, and he’s not okay with how the shadows under Spencer’s eyes are so dark they look like he got punched. “When was the last time you ate?” he asks, cutting off Spencer’s rambling comparison of the different dumpsters around campus.

“ - ones at the administration building are the best,” Spencer keeps on, before Brendon’s words sink in and he opens his eyes again, looking annoyed (Brendon’s also reconciled himself to getting that look from Spencer). “None of your business.”

Brendon thinks about that for a second, and tilts his head. “Actually it kind of _is_ my business, seeing as it would be really dumb of me to be hanging out in an enclosed space with a vampire so hungry he can’t think. I mean, I should probably know, if that’s the case.”

Spencer rolls his eyes, and closes them again. “Yeah, I’m like two minutes away from snapping completely and killing you; you might wanna leave.”

Brendon huffs, and digs in his bag one more time, producing a tiny bag of blood from an inside zip. He reaches, and uses one edge of the plastic packaging to poke Spencer’s arm. He stops, though, when that part of Spencer’s skin visibly cracks under the pressure. “Whoa.”

“Ow,” Spencer mutters, swiping his hand down against his arm, batting the bag away. Brendon cranes over and actually manages to grab Spencer’s hand as it flails, and he cringes at the way it sort of...crunches under his fingers, and presses the little IV bag of blood into his hand. Spencer slits his eyes open, looking uninterested until he actually manages to focus on what’s in his hand, and then he drops it in his attempt to sit up.

“Hey!” Brendon protests, diving for it as it slithers down into the cracks of the trash. “Aw, sh - “ he starts, sifting through papers for a minute until he manages to grab it again, uttering a triumphant little cry. He sits back up, and gives Spencer a glare. “Dude, what’s your problem? It’s - I mean, it’s O, everybody likes type - “

“Fuck, just - just _shut up_ , god,” Spencer hisses, pressing back against the dumpster as far as he can, looking freaked out.

Brendon stares at him, completely confused. “Dude, are you okay?”

“Fucking - you’re just _carrying around blood_?” Spencer asks, his voice crawling higher and higher up with each word. “That’s - you do that? That’s normal?”

Brendon frowns. “Um, _yeah_ , what part of ‘my parents are vampires’ did you not get?” He pauses. “My sister is too. ...Step. Step-sister. Actually kind of...foster sister? I don’t know, we grew up together and now she and Pete and Patrick have a _thing_ and it’s all weird but there’s no way in hell I’m calling her _Mom_ or anything and anyway yes,” Brendon says when he realizes he’s rambling, pulling himself up short, “yes, I carry around blood. For emergencies.” He pauses. “This is an emergency.”

Spencer stares at him.

“Look, it’s really not that strange and it works for them, so - ” Brendon starts testily, but then Spencer raises a hand pacifically, and takes the blood away from him.

“It’s nice of you to do that,” Spencer mumbles, looking down at the bag like it’s explosive. “For her.”

“She’s my sister,” Brendon says simply, shrugging a shoulder and giving him an expectant look. Spencer’s looking anywhere _but_ at Brendon, though, and eventually Brendon gives up and sighs. “I’ve seen vampires eat before.”

“Yeah? So have I,” Spencer says flatly, setting the little bag down on his lap with a finality that makes Brendon groan. He struggles, but eventually manages to push himself unsteadily to his feet, and then he lifts the lid of the dumpster up a little.

Outside, the sun is gone behind the mountains, but the sky is still on fire. A few students are still straggling past on the sidewalk, and Brendon waits for a gap before he pushes himself out, and then turns to look back in at Spencer. “I’m going to wait outside til you’re done,” he threatens. “And I’ll know if you don’t drink it.”

He pretends not to hear the muttered _okay, mom_ from inside, and reaches into his pocket for his phone again. He shuffles through his contacts for a minute, then hits “send” and brings the phone up to his ear. “Hey, Pete?”

-

Pete and Bob the driver show up exactly fifteen minutes later, and Brendon scrambles to his feet in front of the dumpster, holding his hands up at the dark look Pete’s giving him. “Whoa, I didn’t - “

“He’s in there?” Pete asks, short, and he doesn’t wait for an answer before he’s opening the dumpster, ignoring Spencer’s halfhearted _hey!_ as he pulls himself inside. Brendon watches as Pete surges up towards Spencer, muttering something to him and waiting for a response. Spencer nods, looking nervous, and Pete reaches and hugs the shit out of him. Brendon only makes it to Spencer reaching up to give Pete’s back a tentative pat before Brendon has to look away.

He and Bob give each other sheepish smiles. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

There’s some whispering coming from the box, and then some more frantic whispering, and then Pete pokes his head up. “Hey, Bob, can you give us a hand? Busted ankle.”

Brendon folds his arms and stands up on his tiptoes, craning around til his and Spencer’s eyes can meet. He scowls. “You didn’t tell me that,” he accuses, pointing a finger. “He didn’t tell me that,” he tells Pete.

“It didn’t come up,” Spencer says, before Bob tugs the other side of the dumpster lid up. Spencer automatically jerks away, his eyes going wide and watchful for a few seconds before he realizes the sun’s down and it’s only the four of them, the rest of campus is deserted. It doesn’t keep him from glaring at Bob, though, who just looks amused.

“Sorry about this, little man,” he says, and then he reaches down into the dumpster, til he’s bent over in half, and grabs Spencer, and starts hauling him out. “The house is too far to walk.”

“Hey!” Spencer gasps, flailing a little, “Hey, wait, what?” He automatically glances over at Pete for assurance, as Bob manages to get him over the edge of the dumpster and staggers a little. “You said you knew a place I could go to. Um.” His eyes slip over to Brendon for a couple of seconds, and then focus more firmly on Pete. “Get better.”

Brendon tries not to pay attention to the way his stomach twists at that, and he looks over at Pete as well, giving him a flat, unimpressed stare.

Pete ignores Brendon in favor of shrugging a shoulder and giving Spencer a winsome little grin. “We’ve got a spare bedroom,” he explains cheerfully, his grin widening as Spencer catches on and starts struggling. “You can get better there.” And then he gestures for Bob to go ahead, and both he and Brendon watch as Spencer gets deposited in the backseat of the car and buckled in safely, still thrashing weakly and snarling at Bob, who doesn’t even look fazed.

“Thanks, seriously,” Brendon drawls, his arms still folded tight in front of his chest. He ducks his head, and refuses to look over at Pete. “He thought I was going to help keep him safe.”

“You _are_ helping to keep him safe,” Pete says, his smile fading as he watches Bob shut the car door and light up a cigarette, a reward for hard work. After a moment, Pete turns and gives Brendon a hard, otherwise unreadable look. “He didn’t ask for it,” he mutters quickly, before raising a hand at Bob and starting towards the car.

Brendon gapes, and follows after him. “What d’you mean, he didn’t ask for it?” he hisses.

“I _mean_ ,” Pete says, whirling around to give him an annoyed look, “he didn’t ask to be turned. He got snatched and they turned him.” Pete looks over at the car, and then pokes Brendon in the chest. “And he didn’t want anybody else to know about that, so you pretend you don’t, got it?”

Brendon sucks in a quick breath, and scowls back, pushing Pete’s hand away as his skin goes hot with temper and then cold. “He didn’t want it?”

“Nope,” Pete says shortly, and then he gives Brendon a sickly little smile. “Funny how that happens sometimes.” And then he opens the car door, and immediately starts yelling cheerfully at Bob about keeping the goddamn mess in his own goddamn car at a goddamn _minimum_ , jesus.

Brendon watches for a second, shifting his weight uneasily between one foot and the other, and then he heaves a sigh. He opens the back door and climbs in, giving Spencer an apologetic look as he slides onto his seat. “Hey.”

Spencer glares at him. Brendon thinks he probably deserves it.

“I didn’t know Pete was going to do that,” Brendon murmurs, studying his nails intently.

“Sure.”

“I _didn’t_ ,” Brendon insists, giving Spencer a pleading sort of look. He glances up at the front seat, where Pete and Bob are arguing about something, and then shifts a little closer to Spencer. “He gets kinda...I don’t know, he has to try to save everyone. It’s a thing.”

“I don’t need to be saved,” Spencer says shortly, folding his arms and leaning his head back against the car seat.

Brendon watches him, head tilted. “No offense, Spencer, but an hour ago you were starving, wounded, and trapped in a dumpster that smelled like printer ink. You needed some help.”

Spencer opens his eyes just enough to stare at Brendon, for long enough to make him fidget. “And don’t forget,” he finally sighs, “some asshole beaned me on the head with a Sprite bottle.”

“What a dick,” Brendon says, breaking into a relieved grin. “That’s, like, the worst day _ever_.” Encouraged, he reaches to give Spencer’s knee a pat, and pretends not to notice the way Spencer goes still at the touch. “How did you even wind up in a dumpster, anyway?”

Spencer rolls his eyes, but clears his throat. “Ran across a couple of assholes, got jumped. They did my ankle, left me in the quad. Dumpster was the first place I found that looked safe.”

Brendon whistles, low. “Dickheads. Want me to have them killed? Pete knows people,” he says, ducking his head in confidentially. “No one will suspect a thing.”

Spencer smiles, a wry little curl of his lips. “Hey, accidents happen all the time.”

Brendon gives him a quick chin-tilt, and winks. “Done. Leave it to me.”

At that, Spencer raises his eyebrow. “Like I left it to you earlier?” he asks, going kind of stiff. “That really worked well for me.” He doesn’t seem pissed off, though - more just _resigned_.

“It’ll be okay,” Brendon says, looking over at him. “You’ll like Patrick and Ashlee, and they can help get you better. And there’s a Wii in the spare room.”

Spencer exhales quietly, and shifts down into the seat, smiling a little. “Cool,” he breathes, leaning his head against the window.

“When you’re better, you want to have a bowling tournament?” Brendon asks, not even bothering to look away as Spencer closes his eyes, and presses his forehead against the glass. Brendon can feel it happening, the small aching twist to his stomach, the sweet hurt radiating up and out. _Uh oh._ “Spence?”

“Yeah, bowling would be good,” Spencer mumbles, gesturing with a hand tiredly. Brendon reaches over and grabs it, gently tucks it down between their legs, keeping their palms clasped together. They sit like that for a few miles, and then Spencer shifts and gives Brendon’s hand a squeeze. “Heartbeat,” he mutters simply, his lips twisting up in a tiny smile as he squeezes Brendon’s fingers in time with his pulse.

“Yeah?” Enthralled, Brendon scoots a little closer, watching Spencer’s hand. “You can feel it? That’s so cool!”

“Yeah,” Spencer mouths, his smile fading a little. His eyes open, and he glances over at Brendon, and down at their hands for a bit, before he stops squeezing.

“It’ll be okay,” Brendon pipes up, feeling incredibly stupid immediately after. Spencer glances up, and Brendon tries not to shrink away from the blankness of his eyes. “It _will_ ,” he insists, leaning towards him. Part of his brain knows he’s crowding Spencer and that that’s a really idiotic thing to do with a new vampire acquaintance, but Brendon can’t _help_ it, it’s like his brain is hard-wired to do really dumb things, especially when confronted with the vampire equivalent of a baby bird. “Look, at the very least, you’ve got a place that actually has a roof now, and you’ve got a friend.”

And, oh - the smile’s coming back, and Brendon doesn’t even have time to feel like an idiot for laying himself open like that, Spencer’s _smiling_.

“Yeah?” Spencer sits up and gives Brendon a hopeful little look.

“Well, yeah,” Brendon scoffs, immediately trying to bluster to hide how delighted he is. “A man shares his dumpster with another man, he’s got a friend _for life_ , yo.”

“Good to know,” Spencer says solemnly. And Brendon can’t help it - he ducks his head and starts snickering quietly.

A minute later, so does Spencer.

-

Of course they get Spencer to the house and get Andy over and everything goes to shit - Spencer’s ankle is resetting itself, but resetting _wrong_. Also he’s severely malnourished, dehydrated, in shock, and suffering from what looks like a mild case of PTSD, given the shaking and jumping at every little thing.

Brendon’s chatting idly with Spencer about which Beatle was the best Beatle (Spencer’s answer is Ringo. _Nobody’s_ answer is Ringo. Brendon is determined to get to the bottom of this) when Pete and Patrick and Andy stride into the room, looking serious, and then Brendon looks back at Spencer and _Spencer_ looks serious, and also kind of sick, and Brendon immediately argues and argues and _argues_ to stay.

“You can’t just - “ Brendon shouts, getting in Pete’s face, but then he feels a tug on his sleeve and looks down. Spencer raises his eyebrows, and gives him a wry smile.

“You really don’t want to be here for this,” Spencer tells him, and Brendon deflates because - yeah, he really really doesn’t want to. He just doesn’t want to leave Spencer hurting and by himself.

“I think Ashlee wanted some help with her composition assignment,” Patrick offers, smiling cheerfully at the glare Brendon gives him. When he looks back over, Pete’s crouched beside the bed, talking quietly to Spencer, but they both have smiles on their faces. So Brendon only feels about seventy-five percent guilty when he walks down to the study to find Ashlee.

He slides onto the piano bench beside her and watches her play for a few seconds before joining in seamlessly. They play for a few minutes, long enough for Brendon to get lost in the music. And then there’s a long note-hold where Brendon can hear muffled screams coming from another room in the house, and he flubs the next couple of chords, before he just gives up altogether. He puts his hands down on his lap and leans his head on Ashlee’s shoulder, watching her fingers skim over the keys. She plays a little bit louder, and Brendon closes his eyes.

“He’ll be okay, honey,” she says, when the song’s finished.

“I know,” Brendon mutters, not moving his head.

“We’re resilient,” she says, turning to kiss his hair, and it’s so weird to him, suddenly, hearing Ashlee call herself a vampire. Hearing Ashlee _identify_ with other vampires. Brendon remembers Ashlee showing up on their doorstep at ten a.m. on a Saturday, fourteen and red-eyed and red-haired and terrified because her family had thrown her out for going to one of Pete’s rallies. He remembers when Spencer’s room was Ashlee’s room, and she’d decorated her closet door with vintage movie posters, hung dried bouquets from the window. He remembers stealing her Lunchables in high school, wiping away her tears when crushes didn’t work out, and now she’s a vampire.

It’s a lot to take in.

“I’ve heard that,” he murmurs, finally sitting up, rubbing his neck. “You were resilient before, too.”

She flashes him a bright smile, and strikes a few dramatic chords. “That’s sweet.” She bangs out a few more chord changes before she settles into a pretty melody, halfway closing her eyes as she plays.

Brendon watches her for a second, and then he can’t stop himself any longer. “You wanted to turn, right?” He bites his lip, and winces - they’ve never talked about this.

Ashlee’s eyes open, and she glances over at him, and nods. “Yes, very much,” she says, oddly formal. “I wanted - “

“What’s it like?”

Ashlee stops, and raises her hands from the keys, and turns to give Brendon a narrow-eyed look. “Painful,” she says shortly. “And permanent, and you have only known that boy for _two hours_ \- “

“Jesus, Ashlee, no!” Brendon says, cringing back, holding his hands up in front of himself. “I was just asking!”

Ashlee snorts, and gives him an unfooled look. “Yeah, _just asking_. Just asking becomes just _doing_ ,” she says, before she catches herself and sits up a little, looking shocked. “My mom used to say that.”

Brendon tsks, and sits up, squeezing an arm around her shoulders. “I’m not going to _just do_ anything,” he assures her. “I was just wondering.”

She raises an eyebrow at him, but doesn’t say anything, and goes back to playing.

-

Spencer sleeps for _days_ , afterwards. Pete and Patrick both say it’s normal, especially considering the condition he was in, but Brendon and Ashlee both get quiet and a little nervous after the second day, tiptoeing outside of Spencer’s doorway and whispering to each other, afraid of waking him.

“He’ll wake up when he’s ready,” Patrick tells them at breakfast, yawning as he stumbles towards the coffeemaker. “Seriously, he’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” Ashlee murmurs quietly, her eyebrows raised towards the ceiling, and Brendon watches Patrick reach for Ashlee’s hand and twine their fingers together.

“He’ll be okay,” Patrick murmurs, moving around her to open the fridge and grab a bag of blood. Brendon makes a face, and looks down at his plate, poking at his tater tots - he’s gotten over the weirdness factor of eating dinner when everyone else is just waking up, but watching someone heat up a cup of blood in the microwave is still pretty gross. “Seen Pete?”

“He went out with Joe and Andy earlier,” Brendon supplies. “Said he’d be back late.”

Patrick rolls his eyes. “Of course.”

“He’ll be all right,” Ashlee says, using the same inflection Patrick did just a minute ago, giving him an arch smile. “He’ll come back when he’s ready.” She breaks into a grin, and waggles her eyebrows a little at the _fuck you_ Patrick mouths to her, and Brendon rolls his eyes and stands. He puts his dishes in the sink and shoves his hands in his pockets, and heads for the stairs.

He hasn’t ever felt a particular desire to be turned or anything, but sometimes, living with three other vampires gets to him. He’s by himself a lot, lately, which is weird and sort of unnerving. The house is usually quiet when he’s awake. He’d never say as much to Ashlee, of course, but one of the main reasons he wants to move into the dorms on-campus is that there’d actually be people awake for him to talk to. He’s lonely.

Which is probably the reason Brendon finds himself gingerly pressing the door to Spencer’s room open, poking his head inside. Spencer’s lying silent and still on the bed, curled on his side a little, bracketed by a couple of IV drips - one of saline, one of blood (Andy had tried to explain to Brendon once why IVs still worked on vampires when they didn’t even have any circulation, but it had just ended up giving them both a headache). His skin doesn’t look so chalky, so much like paper anymore - more like milk, more like something alive. Brendon shuffles inside, and gazes at the door for a few seconds before biting his lip and closing it behind him. He turns back to Spencer, and exhales, his shoulders slumping.

“Hey,” he murmurs as he crosses in front of the bed, sliding into the empty chair beside Spencer. “Hey, hi. Mind if I sit here?”

He sits and looks for a few minutes. Spencer’s the first vampire he’s seen that strikes him as younger than himself, and it’s oddly appealing, getting to feel protective of someone. Brendon pulls the chair up closer and slides his elbows onto the edge of the bed, and feels pretty gross for brushing Spencer’s hair off his face, taking in how long his eyelashes look this way. “God, you are so pretty,” he says, conversational. “Seriously, you need to cut that shit out.”

He reaches down to pat Spencer’s hand, and keeps his palm there. “I am so creepy, dude,” he sighs, resigned, as he turns Spencer’s hand over and presses their palms together. Spencer’s skin doesn’t crackle or flake anymore, which is amazing - he feels real, now. “So, so creepy.”

Spencer doesn’t respond. Brendon stares at their hands for a few minutes, then leans down to rest his chin against the bed, eventually pressing his cheek against it and sighing heavily. “Everyone else in this house is in love with everyone else, and I haven’t even _kissed_ anyone in over a year,” he grumbles into the down comforter. “It sucks. And it sucks being the only one who eats solids, and the only one who can do yard work.“

He rambles at Spencer for another fifteen minutes about the shitty state of the universe before he takes a breath, and then he moves Spencer’s hand closer to him, so that it’s almost touching his nose it’s so close. “ - and it sucks,” he finishes, sighing, “it sucks that now I get to feel left out at home, too. Awesome.”

He’s distracted from his self-pity party by a raspy sound above him, and when Brendon looks up, Spencer’s looking down at him curiously. “This is so after-school special, I’m going to puke,” he croaks, blinking tiredly as Brendon barks a laugh and surges up, checking him over.

Eventually, Brendon decides that yeah, Spencer is probably going to live, especially if Spencer’s protests about Brendon staring at him like a lab rat are any indication. “Seriously, creeper, cut it out,” Spencer grumbles, waving a hand feebly at Brendon’s face, trying to push it away. Brendon tugs his hand down and keeps it in his own, beaming.

“It’s _alive_!” he cheers, getting up so that he can sit on the edge of the bed and poke Spencer lightly, marveling at how now his skin has _give_ to it. “Look at you! You’re not denting anymore!”

“Yeah, amazing,” Spencer manages, trying to sit up a little, rolling his eyes as Brendon fusses and helps prop up his pillows. He glances up, and blanches at the IV bag of blood hovering over him, and follows the IV with his eyes, down from the bag and into his arm.

“They’d give it to you if you were in a hospital,” Brendon says firmly, ducking down so that Spencer has to look at him. “Okay?”

Spencer nods, and looks back up, tilting his chin a little. “So.”

“So,” Brendon says, suddenly a little uncomfortable now that they don’t have Spencer’s state to talk about. He thinks for a moment, then brightens up. “Oh! _So_. Ringo Starr.” He pauses to grin while Spencer breaks into quiet chuckles, and leans forward, propping his chin on hand. “Explain yourself, and why your answer isn’t George Harrison like any right-thinking person’s would be.”

Spencer’s chuckles die off slowly, and he leans back, giving Brendon a fond smile that makes Brendon’s skin tingly all over. “I had a friend,” he says, quiet, “who would’ve said that too.”

-

Spencer Smith was twelve when he was taken. His parents lived on the outskirts of the city-state of Las Vegas, far enough away from the protection of the guards that when they were attacked one night, their community was completely destroyed. The last time he saw his sisters was the night he was snatched away, pulled out of bed and made to watch his parents being killed, drained by their attackers. He was given over to an old vampire couple, along with his best friend who’d been sleeping over that night. His sisters were probably given away to someone else, if they weren’t just killed, and Spencer hasn’t seen them since.

He and Ryan weren’t adopted, like Brendon and Ashlee were - they were more servants, cattle, and whipping boys for whoever was in the house and wanted some entertainment. Ryan took the brunt of the punishment until Spencer grew taller and broader, and then the lady of the house started eyeing both of them for other sorts of recreational activities. Spencer’d just turned eighteen.

That was when Ryan decided it was time for them to get out.

The plan was simple. They would just wait until the night of one of the clan’s parties, hold out until everyone was passed out, and then figure out a way to scale the fence to the desert outside. The fence was where Jon came in - he was the property of the neighbors, and had found a couple of weak places in the fences that could be cut through.

Spencer left most of the planning up to Ryan and Jon while he ran interference. They had grand plans; Jon had managed to find a transistor radio and kept going on about a program he’d found that could help them, but eventually Spencer had tuned out the dreams and focused on the reality of the situation: they needed to stay safe, stay quiet, and get out quick.

It was his own fault, really.

The day of the party he’d let the lady drain him too much, and he’d been saving up his food for the trip, so he was already pretty lightheaded. And then while Jon and Ryan were snipping the fence, he hadn’t been paying attention to his food like he should’ve. He’s pretty sure it got laced with something while he wasn’t looking.

So when Jon and Ryan came for him that night, he was too slow. And he was too big for the hole they’d made in the fence, and he’d made too much noise coming down the stairs. It’s lucky, really, that Jon and Ryan made it through. He wouldn’t have been able to live with himself if - yeah. They were lucky.

Anyway, so they - the family - caught him and kept him down in the basement for a while, and messed with him, and when they couldn’t find Jon and Ryan after a week or so, they turned Spencer. He’s not really sure which one did it, there wasn’t any light down there.

And then the night after, they shoved him out of the front gates and told him to start walking - it wouldn’t be long until sunrise and there wasn’t much shelter from the light in the desert.

And so he walked until he saw the city, and he managed to make it into one of the sewers right before the sun peered over the mountains. So that was lucky, too.

-

Brendon’s hands don’t stop shaking for two days, after Spencer starts talking.

-

Brendon notices first - when he brings up Spencer’s tray every night and every morning, Spencer grins and sits up and immediately asks how classes or practice are going. He’s lively and argumentative and Brendon falls for it _every time_ \- it isn’t until he leaves the room that he realizes he didn’t actually see Spencer eat anything.

He doesn’t really think anything of it for the first three or four days, especially considering Spencer’s uneasiness with Brendon seeing him eat anything during the whole dumpster episode. It isn’t until Brendon comes into his room one day and notices the sharper jut of Spencer’s cheekbones, the knobs of his wrists, and most shockingly, the dark circles under his eyes, that he actually suspects.

So he mentions something to Patrick, who mentions something to Pete, and one morning when he’s stumbling down the stairs, trying to comb his hair down out of the peaks they somehow formed last night, he happens upon Pete and Spencer glaring at each other in the kitchen, a mug sitting between them on the table.

Pete glances up and waves, which is obviously the kind of distraction Spencer was looking for, because he gets out of his chair and hobbles up the stairs (his ankle is still healing). Both Brendon and Pete cringe at the _slam_ of a door a few seconds later, and Brendon starts to scowl. “What did you - “

“He’s so fucking _stubborn_ ,” Pete grumbles, reaching for the mug, contemplatively watching the steam curl off of it. “Even I wasn’t so stubborn, geez.”

“Pete,” Brendon groans, rolling his eyes. “Go to bed.”

“Yeah, okay,” Pete sighs, pushing the mug away, pouting a little. Then he tilts his head, and looks down at the mug and then up at Brendon.

Brendon glares. “Dude, if _you_ can’t do it, why - “

“No, hey, try, okay?” Pete asks, not even bothering to pretend not to know what Brendon’s talking about. “He might listen to you.”

Brendon gives him a very, _very_ skeptical look, and eyes the mug distastefully. “Yeah, and he _might_ decide he wants to leave and embark on a career as a singing waiter, but what are the odds of that actually happening?”

“I dunno, can he sing?” Pete asks, raising his eyebrows.

“ _Pete_.”

Pete rolls his eyes, folds his arms. “Look, just try. If you get him to do it, I’ll...do something, I don’t know, I’ll buy you something. What do you want?”

Brendon glares a little harder, and then actually thinks about this. “If I get him to do it, I want to live in the dorms next year,” he pronounces triumphantly. If Pete goes along with this, he won’t get to bitch about Brendon moving out, and if he _doesn’t_ go along with it, Brendon can bitch about Pete valuing keeping Brendon under his thumb more than keeping Spence alive.

Brendon is a _genius_.

Pete’s eyes narrow, his hands steepling in front of him. “That,” he says slowly, “was a dick move, Bden.” And - yeah, that’s the voice of a Pete who’s hurt but trying not to show it.

Brendon is a _shit_. His smile immediately vanishes, and he looks down at the floor. “Sorry. I just - I was going to ask, but - “

“Yeah, Patrick told me,” Pete sighs, grinning crookedly at Brendon’s outraged gasp. “Still.” He looks down at his hands, traces over the ancient ink on his right arm for a second, and then looks up again. “Look, you can move into the dorms regardless. You’re a man now, I get it, you need your space. Plus I know it’s weird, the three of us, and - “

“No, it’s totally fine!” Brendon protests, quailing under the unsurprised look Pete gives him.

“I know it’s weird for you, Bren, how could it not be?” He gets up and grabs the mug, and crosses the room, squeezing an arm around Brendon comfortably. “But you always have a place here, you know that, right?”

“Yeah,” Brendon mumbles, leaning into Pete a little.

Pete cranes up to kiss the top of his head, and then hands the mug over, clapping Brendon on the back. “Love you, kiddo,” he says, and then he presses cold fingertips against the back of Brendon’s neck because he knows he _hates_ it, and takes the stairs two at a time, headed for bed.

Brendon ruefully watches him go, and then looks down at the mug of blood, slowly growing colder in his hands. He makes a face, and then follows after Pete, taking the stairs slowly and carefully since he doesn’t want to get blood all over him.

-

If looks could kill, Brendon wouldn’t just be a corpse, he’d be a corpse that had been immolated by the fires of Spencer Smith’s unholy rage and was now nothing more than a fine ash. But he bites his lip and tilts his head down, looking up at Spencer from beneath his eyelashes. Basically pulling every trick that’s ever gotten Ashlee to do _anything_ for him. “Please?” he asks again.

“No,” Spencer snaps, folding his arms, staring down at his crossed legs.

“Come on.”

“No.”

“Spencerrrrr - “

“Brendon, _no_ ,” Spencer snarls, and there’s a note of panic in the last word that makes Brendon back off a little, put the mug on the bedside table and move away.

He thinks for a moment, and then moves over to sit on the edge of the bed, poking at Spencer’s skin until Spencer huffs and scoots over a little, stretching his legs along the length of the bed. Brendon curls up to him, wrapping around him a little, ignoring Spencer’s little moue of exasperation (he knows it’s fake anyway, because Spencer slumps down into his hold easily). “Good?”

“Yeah, okay,” Spencer murmurs, closing his eyes for a moment, resting his head on Brendon’s collarbone. Brendon pats his arm, and then frowns and pats it again, a little harder. And then he sighs.

“You’re getting dent-y again,” he mumbles sadly, into Spencer’s hair.

“Mm?” Spencer moves a little, bringing his head up enough to look at him with tired eyes. Brendon presses his lips together and then looks down and pokes Spencer’s arm again. Both of them watch as the impression of Brendon’s finger stays in Spencer’s skin for the better part of a minute, before finally filling out again. Spencer sighs, and lets his head fall back down onto Brendon’s shoulder, and doesn’t speak.

“What’s going on, Spence?” Brendon finally manages to ask, shivering a little as Spencer huddles into him. “Why won’t you - you know what it would - “ Brendon realizes, with a jolt, that everything he wants to tell Spencer is either way too intimate or upsetting or both, and he shuts his mouth audibly, exhaling a long breath through his nose. Shaken, he presses his nose to Spencer’s hair and tries to make his breathing go normal. Usually he can think of _something_ to say, but this time, he’s got nothing.

Somewhere near his neck, Spencer shudders, and presses in closer. “My mom,” he finally mutters, his voice a little wobbly. “It’s what I think of every - I see them taking my mom.” There’s a small pause, and Brendon holds on a little tighter as Spencer’s shoulders jump. “And it’s the same stuff, and now _I_ have to drink it, and - “

“It’s not your mom,” Brendon murmurs, tugging him up closer. “Spence, it’s _not_ your - “

“Yeah, I know, but it’s - it could be somebody else’s mom’s, and - “

“Spencer,” Brendon says, glad his voice decided to return for the moment, “this blood came from a blood bank. Someone voluntarily gave it, so that it could help you.”

“Yeah, but - “

“No, hey, listen to me.” Oh, hey, spoke too soon - Brendon’s voice cracks and is gone again, and he has to curl down next to Spencer’s ear. “Listen. Do you really think your mom would rather have you doing this to yourself? Making yourself sick? Making us - making us _watch_ you get sicker and sicker?”

“Bren - “

“No, just,” Brendon whispers, his breath harsh in his own lungs as he forces the words out, “just listen. Do you think your mom wants you to die? Or do - do you think she’d rather see you get better? So you can help Pete find the people who did this to you - to your _family_ and make sure it stops? Which do you think she’d rather see her son do?”

There’s a small silence, and then Spencer sucks in a rattly breath and chokes on a slightly hysterical-sounding laugh. “You’re such a dick,” he whimpers, reaching a hand up to rub over his eyes quickly. “Oh my god.”

Brendon chokes, and laughs a little too, pulling Spencer up to hug him properly. “Yeah, you love me,” he says, glad he can hide his face in Spencer’s shoulder so Spence can’t see his blush at that. “You love my awesome speeches.”

Spencer laughs again, and takes a deep, shaky breath, holding on tight to the back of Brendon’s shirt. “It was better than the one about the pros and cons of Pac-Man versus Mrs. Pac-Man,” he admits. “I’ll give it that.”

Brendon pulls away from Spencer enough to glare at him. “That one is a _classic_ , I’ll have you know,” he informs Spencer. He grins down at the smile threatening to break Spencer’s face, and can feel his chest tightening and twisting, can feel the urge to just - to just close the distance between them.

So, he tugs away and reaches for the mug still sitting on the bedside table.

Spencer sobers a little as Brendon hands it to him, and gives him a quick, nervous glance as he cups it between his hands. “D’you want me to turn around?” Brendon asks kindly, squeezing his shoulder.

“No, just.” Spencer frowns a little, and then rolls his eyes at himself. “Seriously? A vampire scared of blood. I’m, like, the definition of not intimidating.”

“Probably,” Brendon agrees, giving him a quick grin and scooting closer, curling his arm around Spencer’s middle comfortably. He presses his cheek to Spencer’s shoulder, and feels him take a long, shuddery breath, and watches him raise the mug to his lips.

-

“When you weren’t a vampire,” Brendon starts, sprawling back on Spencer’s bed, halfheartedly killing zombies on the tv screen, “did you like crunchy peanut butter or creamy peanut butter?”

“What the fuck, Bden,” Spencer grumbles, twisting the controller in his hands, scowling as a shot flies over his shoulder. “Fuck, watch what you’re doing, that almost shot _me_.”

“Sorry,” Brendon mumbles, abashed, but then he gets back to his original point. “No, but seriously, answer the question. Which one did you like? Like, on sandwiches?”

Spencer frowns and tilts his head, considering the question. He bites his lip and mashes down hard with his fingers, smirking a little as another zombie kicks it. “I don’t...” he starts, frowning as he gets distracted by the screen. “Actually, I didn’t like peanut butter sandwiches,” he finally manages during a zombie lull. He pushes his hair out of his eyes, and gives Brendon a hectic grin. “They stuck to the roof of my mouth. It was gross.” He picks his controller back up when another zombie starts towards him. “I liked peanut butter cookies though, those were good.”

Brendon stares at him, completely bemused, and doesn’t even notice when a zombie grabs his character on the screen and starts to eat his brains.

-

“ - and Shane and Dallon kept arguing that Spiderman was more heroic because he, like, has more _heart_ or some shit, and I was like motherfuckers, you need a superhero because some crazy villain’s got you tied to the Empire State building or something, you don’t want him to have _heart_ , you want him to have a fucking _jetpack_ ,” Brendon says, punctuating his impassioned speech by accidentally flinging a spoonful of cereal at Spencer’s arm. “Oh, shit,” he says, slowly turning red. “Um, sorry, got kinda - “

“I’ll live,” Spencer assures him, using a paper towel to wipe himself and the table off. He smiles back at the huge grin Brendon shoots him, and props his chin back on his hand. “Anyway, jetpack.”

“Huh? Oh!” Brendon laughs, remembering, and looks down at his cereal, stirring it around a little before he continues his story. It means he misses the way Spencer’s head tilts a little to the right, and the way his eyes go kind of soft and happy, but maybe that’s for the best.

-

Brendon groans and flumps over on his mattress, pressing his face down into the pillow in vain hopes that it’ll send him back to sleep. When five minutes of that pass, however, he gives up and stumbles out of bed and down the hall towards the bathroom.

When he comes out, he automatically starts in the direction of his bedroom, but the sound of birdsong stops him. Brendon turns around and heads in its direction, frowning when it leads him to Spencer’s door.

He pokes his head in, curious, and gives Spencer a grin and a wave. Spence is propped up in bed, looking kinda tired - which is worrying - but he smiles and waves back, and tries to keep Pete’s old laptop balanced on his knees.

“Why are you still awake?” Brendon whispers, as he slips into the room, padding over to sit on the edge of Spencer’s bed. He tsks when Spencer just shrugs his shoulders, and then cranes to see what Spencer’s watching that’s making all of the racket.

Brendon exhales, and scoots up to the head of the bed when he realizes what he’s watching.

“I miss them,” Spencer mutters, shifting to give Brendon more room, angling the computer screen so that Brendon can see too. Brendon curls into him a little, and fixes the screen, and settles with his head on Spencer’s shoulder, as they both watch video after video of sunrises.

  
[Part Two](http://manipulant.livejournal.com/44887.html)


	2. Chapter 2

Back when he and Ashlee were in high school, they both developed an unfortunate obsession with bath and shower products, and amassed a stockpile that could serve the hygiene needs of a small town for several years. It stands to reason, then, that the bathroom Brendon shares with Spencer is packed to capacity with different kinds of shampoo, conditioner, soap, and a whole bunch of girly shit that Ashlee bought that usually involves twelve types of glitter.

Brendon pretends to judge her for them, but privately, he has his favorites.

It’s the weekend, so he doesn’t have any classes to run out the door for, and it’s in the middle of the day so he’s pretty certain he’s not going to be making _Spencer_ late for any pressing engagements with his good friends the PS3 and the Golden Girls, so Brendon takes his sweet time. He shampoos, he rinses, he repeats. He jerks off thinking about the long column of Spencer’s neck when he laughs, the way his fingers twitch and drum when he’s bored. Once he’s recovered and his knees aren’t jelly, he rinses come off of the tiles. He exfoliates and moisturizes.

And then when he’s done, Brendon quickly dries off and wraps the towel around his waist, whistling a little as he opens the door and starts out, along with a billowing cloud of steam.

And promptly runs directly into Spencer, who blinks at him sleepily.

“Whoa, hey,” Brendon says, taking a step back, laughing a little. “Sorry, man, didn’t even see you.”

“Obviously,” Spencer grumbles, patting Brendon’s arm and feinting like he’s going to move out of Brendon’s way, and then...stopping. Brendon blinks, confused, and watches Spencer stare down at his grip on Brendon’s arm. “You...” Spencer starts, then blinks, frowning.

“What?” Brendon asks, frowning too. “Spencer, are you - “

“That’s - what kind of shampoo is that?” Spencer asks, sounding sort of strangled. He moves a little closer, stepping up to Brendon until Brendon’s back is against the doorframe and Spencer’s kind of...huh, kind of surrounding him.

Immediately, Brendon starts to blush. “Um - r-rosemary and mint, maybe? I’m not sure, I wasn’t really paying attention,” he stammers.

Spencer looks completely befuddled, but leans in ( _oh christ_ ) and - and fucking _breathes Brendon in_ , holding him against the doorframe and pressing up against him for a good thirty seconds, brushing the tip of his nose against Brendon’s jawline before letting go of the grip on his arm and moving away, seemingly embarrassed. “Um. It’s good. It smells good.”

“Good,” Brendon breathes, slumped against the frame for a few seconds, staring at him. “Um. Clothes.”

Spencer blinks, and then looks down and apparently notices for the first time that Brendon’s in a towel. His cheeks go a little pink, and Brendon almost runs into the wall when he notices how dark Spencer’s eyes have gotten. “Yeah. ...Yeah, clothes. Clothes are - “

“Good,” Brendon supplies helpfully, leaning against the wall now.

“Yeah,” Spencer nods. He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something else, but then he shakes his head and gives Brendon one more completely gobsmacked look before he he closes the bathroom door firmly.

Brendon stares at it for a second, and then rubs a hand over his face, looking up and down the hall.

At the far left end of the corridor, Bob’s smirking at him, a bowl of chips in his hand. “That was cute,” he tells Brendon cheerfully.

Brendon doesn’t think it’s physically possible for him to blush any redder. “Shut up, Bob,” he mutters, before heading back to his room to mull over what the hell just happened.

-

Spencer has an appointment with Hurley to get his ankle cleared on Thursday, and it’s only Tuesday but he’s already so antsy it’s hilarious. He keeps poking Brendon and beaming at him, spazzing out a little over the prospect of unlimited mobility. Brendon would be annoyed if it weren’t so _fucking adorable_.

They’re busy pretending to watch _Wizards of Waverly Place_ , mostly talking and pinching each other, when the intruder alert goes off. Spencer immediately freezes, looking terrified, but Brendon snaps into efficiency-mode and tugs him down onto the ground, tucking them into a corner behind the sofa that Bob told him was safe.

There have been a few scares since Brendon came to live with Patrick and Pete, all of them false, thank God, but Brendon’s pretty sure it never gets less nerve-wracking. It feels like an hour before the lights in the house come back on. Spencer’s shaking, but curled around him protectively, pressing him back against the walls. “S’okay, Spence,” he murmurs, rubbing his arm companionably. “We’re good now.”

“ _Bden, you alive?_ ” Pete’s voice calls out from the intercom.

“Yeah,” Brendon hollers back. “Spencer’s with me. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, Bob caught ‘em. Hey, meet us in the foyer, okay?”

“Wait, what?” Brendon says, poking his out from behind the sofa. “Bob _caught_ someone?”

“Yeah! Okay, see you in a minute!” And then there’s a crackle and pop, and Pete’s voice is gone.

“Um.” Spencer’s head pops up beside Brendon’s. “Is it normal procedure to meet the people who were trying to break into your home?” he asks, raising his eyebrows at Brendon.

“No,” Brendon mutters, frowning. “But it _is_ Pete. And Bob’s there, so it should be safe. Let’s go.” He gets up, and reaches down to give Spencer a hand up, and waits for him to navigate around the sofa before heading for the main foyer.

Brendon hasn’t even rounded the corner to head down the stairway when he hears voices arguing. Pete’s is one of them, and maybe Bob’s, but there’s another one, shrill and frustrated and obviously fucking _freaked_. Brendon quickens his pace a little, just in case shit goes down, but then he and Spencer both hear a vehement “ _no, fuck YOU_ ,” and Spencer makes this weird little squeaky noise beside him, and immediately pushes forward, hurtling down the stairs. Brendon squawks and tries to catch up, worried Spencer’s going to re-break his ankle, but then when he gets to the bottom of the stairwell he almost runs into the back of Spencer and re-breaks it for him.

“Ow, jesus _christ_ , what - “ he starts, before he realizes everyone’s staring at Spencer, who is staring at the lanky, skinny guy silhouetted by the lamplight in the foyer. In front of him, Spencer sucks in a breath.

“Ryan?”

-

It’s been twenty minutes, and Brendon’s smiled and shaken everyone’s hand, so his job is pretty much done. So he’s sitting on the steps of the main staircase, his head pressed against the rails as he watches the touching reunion scene play out in front of him.

Spencer and Ryan are beaming, fucking _beaming_ at each other, and the other guy - Jon - has his hand on Spencer’s shoulder. For the first couple of minutes none of them were really sure what to do and Brendon was a little afraid Spencer would bolt, but then Ryan had reached for him, tugged him forward with careful fingers and Spencer had just - had just folded in, collapsed into Ryan and held on for dear life, obviously so relieved that it had just overwhelmed him.

And now, of course, Pete and Patrick and Ashlee have all gotten in on the act, grinning and shaking hands and cracking jokes, and it’s suddenly a big family reunion. And Brendon’s sitting on the staircase, watching it happen.

 _That didn’t take long._

The thought barely manages to flash through Brendon’s brain before he’s ashamed of it - these are Spencer’s best friends, the ones who kept him alive, and if he’s going to keep any part of Spencer after he’s left, he’d better get over there and -

“Hey,” comes an unfamiliar voice above him. Brendon looks up, and gives Jon a smile.

“Hi.” He doesn’t protest as Jon sits down on the steps beside him, just looks over at Spencer and Ryan and his parents all talking. Spencer’s smiling, like it’ll break his face, and Ryan’s arm is slung over his shoulders, and Brendon’s stomach hurts, low and deep down.

“We were so sure he hadn’t made it,” Jon murmurs, shifting so his knee just touches Brendon’s. “Ryan was - he still isn’t really the same. From how he was before.” Jon slouches back against the stairs, propping himself up on his elbows. “It sort of broke him.”

“Mm,” Brendon hums solemnly, not sure what Jon’s wanting from him. He watches Pete poke at Spencer’s belly, and Ryan’s wide, pretty smile, and he just really, really wants to go upstairs and go to bed and not come out for a few years. “Maybe this will fix him. Fix them _both_ , actually,” he offers, turning and giving Jon a wide, hopeful, completely insincere smile.

Jon smiles back a little and looks over at them. “Spencer seems pretty whole.”

Brendon looks down at his hands, back up at Spencer. “That’s good,” he murmurs, putting another smile on quick, when Spencer looks over at him. He stands and brushes his pants off, and looks back over his shoulder at Jon. “It’s good you came for him,” he says, ducking his head a little. “He missed you a lot.”

Jon tilts his head, and watches Brendon move down the stairs and over to where everyone is standing. He’s smiling, suddenly, _beaming_ actually, and talking fast and loud and cheerful with Pete and Ryan, laughing at Pete’s jokes. His smile only seems to fade when he looks at Spencer.

-

“- out near Bakersfield,” Ryan says, beaming at Spencer, not paying a bit of attention to the tour of the house Spencer is giving him. “We found the radio guys, Spence, they’re _so awesome_ , you wouldn’t even believe it, and we do runs down into LA sometimes but god, it’s - it’s like if the Emerald City and the Omega Man had a baby. It’s fucked up.”

“Yeah?” Spencer asks, wincing. He still doesn’t take very kindly to the idea of Ryan willingly putting himself in danger.

“Yeah. I mean, like, even _our_ Vegas is Martha’s Vineyard compared to that place. It’s bad.” Ryan falls back a little, to look in on the kitchens. “Nice,” he nods, walking up beside Spencer to take in the books in Pete’s study. “Nothing like back home,” he laughs, sort of self-consciously.

Spencer gives Ryan a little smile. “You okay?” he asks, quiet.

Ryan tilts his head and smiles back, but he does actually consider the question before he answers. “Getting there. You?”

“Same,” Spencer says, shrugging a shoulder.

“Having help getting there?” Ryan asks shrewdly, smirking a little when Spencer rolls his eyes. “What? He’s cute. And he thinks you hung the moon, so - “

“Right,” Spencer interrupts, giving Ryan a quelling look. “Yeah, I really _doubt_ that, actually. He’s that nice to everyone.”

Ryan snorts, and keeps walking.

“Seriously, he is. And he’s...I don’t know. I think I’m a project,” Spencer says, frowning faintly. “Plus, I think he probably needs one person in his life that keeps daytime hours, y’know? A real guy.”

Ryan frowns. “What’re you, Pinocchio?” He reaches over to flick Spencer’s arm, and glares at him. “He’d be lucky, that’s all I’m saying.”

“Aren’t you sweet,” Spencer drawls, trying to think of something quickly, to distract Ryan. “Anyway, so what are the radio guys like?”

Ryan’s eyes shine with fervent adoration. “Oh man, Spence, you don’t even _know_.“

-

He knows it’s a dick move, but when Brendon really can’t stand being in the house anymore, he hides outside in the sunshine. Usually he makes sure it’s after everyone else is asleep, but when he’d ducked out onto the back patio, he could still hear Spencer talking with Ryan upstairs, the two of them laughing, and Brendon had suddenly felt so claustrophobic and sad that he had to get out. Let the sun warm his shoulders.

He sighs, and sprawls out on the warm boards of the deck, closing his eyes against the sun and attempting to keep his mind blissfully blank. It works, for a while, but then a shadow passes over his face and stays there. Brendon frowns and blinks his eyes open and squints, finally managing to focus on Ryan hovering over him, looking unimpressed.

Brendon sighs and sits up, and gives Ryan a small smile. “Don’t usually get much company out here,” he says gamely, patting the stoop beside him. He’s not thoroughly surprised when Ryan stays standing, though.

Ryan squints up into the sun and nods, and produces a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his weather-beaten bomber jacket, and offers the pack to Brendon. When Brendon waves it away, Ryan shrugs and takes one, lighting it with a zippo before he comes to sit on the stoop, on the opposite side of Brendon. There’s a long, awkward pause.

“Thanks,” Ryan finally mutters. “For looking out for him.”

Brendon presses his lips together and looks down at his hands. “Likewise.” He’s quiet for a few seconds, and then shakes himself and pastes a smile on. “How did you hear Spencer was with us, anyway?”

Ryan shrugs a shoulder. “Pete did a podcast, talked about his new baby vamp from the outlands. We picked it up, and I had a feeling.”

Brendon blinks. “What, really?” he asks, startled at the slow, amused smile Ryan gives him.

“Yep.”

Brendon nods, and ducks his head again. He can feel Ryan’s eyes still on him, but he can’t look up. His body just isn’t letting him, it’s like it’s locked up. “You know,” Ryan says, shifting to sprawl back on the deck a little, “he talks about you so much. It’s funny.”

Brendon tilts his chin, turns just enough to give Ryan a tiny smile. “Yeah? Huh.” A bad feeling is settling like lead at the bottom of his stomach. “That _is_ funny.”

Ryan keeps quiet, takes another drag off his cigarette, and turns to face Brendon entirely. “Why’s that funny?” he asks, his voice suddenly turning as flat and as dry as the landscape past the city limits, catching Brendon wrong-footed.

And - yeah, fuck _that_. Brendon knows that Ryan and Spencer and Jon didn’t exactly have the easiest time of it growing up, but neither did he. After four years of goading and insults and black eyes in high school, Brendon told himself he wasn’t going to put up with shit like that anymore. Not even from Ryan.

So he pulls himself up into standing, brushing his pants off before he shoots Ryan an annoyed look and heads back towards the door.

“I’m going to ask him to come with us,” Ryan calls, waiting for Brendon to stop, watching his shoulders hunch up near his ears. “I cleared it with the rest of the guys before we left. They think I’m bringing him back.”

For the first time in his life, Brendon wishes he were a vampire, just so he could do some serious damage to the asshole sitting fifteen feet away. (Then again, if he were a vampire, he’d be a pile of dust from sitting in the sun for so long, but either way, he’d be feeling significantly less stress.) “That’ll be nice for you guys,” he says, voice kind of strained, and he actually manages to get his hand on the doorknob. And then Ryan starts talking again.

“...But I won’t ask him if you don’t want me to.”

And Brendon turns to give Ryan a completely incredulous look. “What?”

Ryan rolls his eyes, and gives Brendon a crooked, disarming smile. “I’m not stupid, even if the two of you are.” He gestures expansively with the hand holding the cigarette. “If, for whatever reason, you don’t want me to, I won’t ask him to come with us. Easy.”

Brendon stares at him for a second, and then scowls. “Fuck you,” he spits. “That’s not - I can’t just _do_ that. And you can’t either, you can’t make decisions like that for him - “

“The hell I can’t, I’ve been doing it for years,” Ryan says cheerfully, flicking the cigarette butt into the lawn. “Well, not recently.”

“Well, I’m not going to,” Brendon snaps, reaching for the doorknob one more time. He yanks the door open and stomps inside, slamming it closed behind him.

At the other end of the patio, Ryan watches the door for a moment or two and then smiles again, brighter, more genuine this time as he lights up another cigarette. He leans back on his elbows and tilts his head up to the sun, only opening an eye a minute or two later when a shadow falls over him. “Jon,” he says easily.

Jon tilts his chin and sits beside him, reaching out to steal a drag of the cigarette and hand it back. “How’d it go?” he asks, leaning back as well.

Ryan purses up his lips, gives him a wry look. “Kid’s actually in love with Spence,” he says, exhaling a plume of smoke, handing the cigarette over to Jon without being asked.

Jon inhales, and nods. “Yep.”

-

Spencer realizes around ten Thursday morning that he hasn’t seen Brendon for at least a day and a half. He doesn’t really think about it right then because Hurley’s in front of him testing out his ankle and Spencer wants to make sure everything goes well, but it’s definitely something he files away for later.

“Later” roughly translates into noon, right when Spencer’s getting ready for bed, dragging himself into a pair of pajamas and almost flopping onto his mattress before his brain triggers _Brendon Brendon Brendon Brendon_ and Spencer actually stops, and turns around, and heads towards Brendon’s room.

That Brendon’s actually in there, huddled up in a little ball under his bedcovers, is kind of a surprise, but Spencer’s tired enough to let it go. He pads over to the bed and pokes Brendon until he grumbles and stirs, and then Spencer tugs the blankets up and slips under them, curling around him easily.

Spencer shivers and presses his cheek to Brendon’s shoulderblade, and lets his eyes close comfortably. “You okay?”

Brendon sighs, and leans back against him a little. “Yeah, m’fine.”

“You don’t have classes?”

“Told ‘em I was sick,” Brendon murmurs, reaching to curl his fingers over Spencer’s on his chest, pressing them in.

“Are you?”

Brendon sighs, and shakes his head. “Just don’t feel good.”

Spencer sucks his teeth, and hugs Brendon to him a little tighter, and then presses his cold nose to the nape of his hair, grinning at Brendon’s little squawk. “Feel better, okay?” And then he presses his cheek against the side of Brendon’s neck, so that he feels more than he actually hears Brendon’s response.

 _Yeah, okay, Spence._

-

When Spencer wakes up, he’s alone in Brendon’s bed, and Ryan is hovering over him, looking sort of perplexed. Spencer gazes up at him blearily for a moment, and then groans and rolls over.

“I’ve been looking all over for you,” Ryan says, reaching down to tug the blankets off of Spencer’s shoulder. Spencer yelps and tugs on them, twisting his head to give Ryan a glare, since it’s not like Spencer can produce his own body heat, is it? He was relying on those blankets to keep in the warmth from Brendon.

“You’re a dick,” Spencer grumbles, reaching over to push Ryan a little, then sitting up, rubbing his eyes. “Wha’ time is it?” he asks, his voice cracking on a huge yawn.

“About seven?” Ryan hazards a guess, pursing his lips up as he tries to remember. “The sun’s gone down, but only just.” He takes in Spencer’s nod, and then rolls his eyes and starts pushing at his shoulder, ignoring Spencer’s squawks and protests until he does what Ryan wants and scoots over.

“Don’t put your - take your _shoes_ off, at least,” Spencer huffs, pushing back at Ryan as he sits down, moving to spread out on the bed. “Oh my god, do you guys live like _animals_ out in wherever the hell?”

“Pretty much,” Ryan grins as he toes his shoes off, and then stretches out on the bed, rolling onto his side so he can look Spencer over. Spencer raises his eyebrows and looks back, trying to keep down the smile that wants to break free. He manages to last until Ryan reaches up and pokes his nose.

“Dick. Cut it out,” he says, batting him away. They grin at each other for a moment.

“You look good, Spence,” Ryan murmurs, his mouth twisting up in a smile. “Kinda pale,” he allows, “but. I don’t know, on the drive down here I was half expecting to find you almost dead or, y’know, not _you_ , and here you look better than you did the last six months we were in that hellhole.”

Spencer frowns a little, and keeps quiet. He knows the warning signs of Ryan working himself up to a point, and wants to see where this is going.

“I should’ve taken better care of you,” Ryan says, looking down at the duvet for a minute, frowning as he plucks lint off of it. “Jon and I were so obsessed with getting out and getting picked up, I didn’t even - well, I see _now_. What you did. And, y’know, thanks and all, but.” He wanders off-track for a moment, frowning at something over Spencer’s shoulder, before he shakes himself and comes back. “You shouldn’t have had to do it. You should’ve been thinking of yourself, not me or Jon, and - “

“Shut up, Ryan,” Spencer mutters, narrowing his eyes at him. “I did what I wanted to.”

“Yeah, I know you did what you wanted to,” Ryan scowls back, reaching up to flick his nose again. “The problem is, I figure you’re always going to be _that guy_ , y’know? Like, you’re always going to want to do what you think will make everyone else happiest, even if it doesn’t make _you_ particularly happy, and what the fuck am I supposed to do with that?”

Spencer squints at him, starting to get a little confused. “Ryan - “

“No, just.” Ryan holds up a hand between them, and then pats Spencer’s shoulder with it, his eyes softening a little. “Look. I have missed you _so much_ , Spencer Smith, and I’m not going to lie, Jon and I came here thinking we’d bring you back with us, but.” He pauses, and gives Spencer a wry little smile. “Now I don’t know whether or not I should ask you to come, because I know you’d do it just because we want you to.” He winces at the scowl Spencer gives, and hurries to continue. “Because that’s, y’know, who you are. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that you don’t need to do that for me and Jon anymore. You don’t need to take care of us anymore, we’re good.” Ryan breaks into a grin, suddenly. “I know how to hotwire a car now, did you know that? I know, like, life skills.”

“I don’t really know if I’d consider hotwiring a car as necessary a life skill as being able to, y’know, boil water,” Spencer muses, “but good job?”

“Thank you,” Ryan replies, magnanimously. “So...if you really want to come with us, there’s room. And we’d love to have you. I’ve gotta say, though, Spence,” Ryan says, and he sits up a little, biting his lip as he looks down at Spencer, “it seems like you’ve got a few things working in your favor _here_.”

Spencer gazes up at him for a moment, a slow smile curling over his lips. “That was a very good speech, Ryan,” he tells him nicely. “Did Jon help you write it?”

“Shut up,” Ryan says immediately, reaching to pinch him between the ribs viciously, grinning as Spencer flails and starts laughing. “Oh my _god_ , shut up, I take it back. You can’t come with us. You’re uninvited.”

“No, it was really sweet! Did you stay up last night and make flashcards? Did he help you remember to make eye contact?” Spencer gasps, twisting away from Ryan’s hands and trying to retaliate.

“You’re an asshole. A big, gaping, prolapsed - “

“This sounds like it’s going well,” Jon says, his head suddenly sticking in the door of Brendon’s room, his eyebrows raised towards the ceiling. He looks over to Ryan. “You tell him?”

“Yeah, but then he was a complete dick, so he’s uninvited,” Ryan complains, slapping Spencer’s hands away when they reach for his ribs. He and Jon share a grin as Jon slips into the room.

“That’s a pretty easy resolution,” Jon says, nodding. “I like it. Elegant in its simplicity.” He watches the two of them tussle on the bed for a minute, before he speaks up again. “You told him about Brendon, too, right?”

Spencer sits up, tugging his shirt back down, blocking Ryan’s attempt to grab for his hair. “Brendon?” He glances down at Ryan, and Ryan’s suddenly sheepish expression. His eyes narrow. “Ryan, what did you do?”

“Um.”

-

Even with all of Pete’s and Spencer’s cajoling, none of them can get Ryan and Jon to say they’ll stay past Friday, when their ride swings back by Vegas that night. Ashlee goes to try to drag Brendon out of his room when the Trans Am and work van screech up into their driveway, sending huge plumes of smoke and sand up into the air, and Pete breaks into a huge grin and whoops excitedly when the doors to the car open up. There’s a streak of dirty blonde hair and then Pete’s being picked up off his feet, swept up into a hug by a cartoonish-looking figure. For just a second, Patrick looks nervous, but then he feels small fingers slipping through his own. He glances back and gives Ashlee a tight smile. “Find him?”

Ashlee frowns, shakes her head. “He wasn’t in his room.”

Patrick sighs, and turns back to be introduced to the rest of the guys getting out of the car, putting on a smile as Pete throws his arm around the blond guy and walks forward.

-

The Killjoys can’t stay for dinner, which is probably for the best since Brendon’s fucked off to god-knows-where in the house, and the rest of them can’t be trusted to do anything but nuke mugs of blood. Ryan and Jon beam at everyone, and so does Spencer, by extension, and Frank talks a mile a minute about the run down to Battery City while Ryan and Jon were gone, and how Toro almost got caught by Korse, but escaped right out from under his nose.

They’re all huddled in a mostly-circular shape on the front lawn, and Spencer uses the quiet while Frank tells his story to look around at the faces of the people there, take them in.

Frank’s animated and quick to smile, especially in Mikey’s direction, and Mikey keeps grinning into space and patting the top of Pete’s head cheerfully. Sandwiched between them, the one with the red hair, Gerard, is keeping quiet and watchful, his eyes dark and sweeping the perimeters, never staying still. Toro keeps interjecting important details he thinks Frank’s likely to forget, and Ryan and Jon both look over the moon about heading back out, finding out the latest volley they’re throwing against BLI. Ryan’s got an aviator cap and goggles plunked on the top of his head, and Jon’s fingers keep twitching eagerly, ready to get going.

Spencer can’t begrudge them their enthusiasm. He kind of wishes he shared it. As it is, though, he’s just glad they have somewhere to be happy, since he does too.

He leans back, and then looks back towards the house, biting his lip, debating. He’s almost come to a conclusion, when a hand rests light on his arm, and he turns to see Ashlee gazing up at him, a small smile on her face. “He’s not in his room,” Ashlee tells Spencer, one corner of her mouth quirking. “See if you can find him?”

Spencer gives her a grateful look, and melts silently away from the circle, heading back towards the house. He runs across Bob in the foyer, who’s bringing out a cooler of what is probably sandwiches and soda, the last battle in Bob’s war to fatten Ryan and Jon up before they leave. Spencer’s relatively certain Bob just misses having other people around who actually have to eat. “Need some help?” he asks, really hoping Bob doesn’t take him up on it.

Bob snorts, and shakes his head, and has almost passed Spencer completely before he says, “I’d check the study, if I were you.”

Spencer turns to watch Bob head out the door towards the group and then decides to take his advice, and heads down the hallway, ignoring the sudden clamor of shouted joy coming from outside.

There is the faint sound of piano music coming from inside the study, which is encouraging. Spencer places his fingertips on the door and rests them there for a second, before he actually pushes it open and peeks inside.

Brendon’s leaning over the piano, his chin propped in his hand as he listlessly plunks out a tune with his right hand, frowning as he tries different variations. Spencer slips into the room unnoticed and watches him for a few minutes, the length of his legs under the piano bench, dark eyelashes a smudge against his cheekbones, his mouth drawn up in a frown.

Something inside Spencer twists tight and hot, and he takes a few steps forward, waiting til Brendon glances over and notices him, before he speaks. “You’re going to miss saying goodbye,” he points out, moving towards the piano and sitting on the bench beside Brendon, straddling it easily.

Brendon’s lips thin out a little, and he nods. “I know.” He pauses, and hits a few more keys. “I’m not very good with goodbyes.”

“That’s okay,” Spencer says, with a small nod. “It’s not like Bakersfield’s so far away, you know? It isn’t forever.”

“Yeah,” Brendon mutters, voice going smaller. “That’s good.”

Spencer puzzles over this for a few seconds, before he replays what he said in his head and suddenly _gets it_. “Hey,” he says, ducking his head closer, scooting forward on the bench. “Hey, um.”

Brendon huffs a little, frustrated, and glances over at him. “Yeah?”

Spencer bites his lip. “So Ryan and I talked. And he, y’know, wanted me to come with him and Jon and the rest of the guys back to California.” Brendon, bless him, doesn’t even look surprised, he just nods and presses his lips together, resigned. “Anyway, I started thinking about it, and there’s a whole lot of sun and not much else out there, and I don’t trust those guys to have a refrigerator that works, and, y’know, _you’re_ not there, so I don’t really think it was much of a surprise to him when I told him no.”

 _That_ gets Brendon’s attention - he looks up at Spencer with wide, dark, startled eyes. “You - what?”

“I’m staying,” Spencer says, biting his lip and reaching for Brendon’s hand on the piano, squeezing it with his own. “I mean, if that’s okay.” He looks down at their hands, at Brendon’s darker fingers twined in with his own. “Ryan said I’d always have a place with them, but I got to thinking, and I think - I mean, I guess like I feel like my place is here. Beside you.”

“Oh,” Brendon breathes, looking down at their hands too. There’s a long, tense pause, and then Brendon squeezes Spencer’s hand, _tight_. “Oh,” he says again, beginning to grin, leaning into Spencer a little, “that is _such_ a good line.”

“Right?” Spencer agrees happily, just before he finishes closing the distance for Brendon and presses their lips together, feeling the warmth of Brendon’s breath and skin against his own.


End file.
